


Drawing Him On

by Small_Hobbit



Series: Twelve Days of Christmas plus A Few [16]
Category: The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 17:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13275948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: Portly the Otter has been exploring all day, and soon night will be falling.





	Drawing Him On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bunn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/gifts).



It had been a long day, and Portly the otter cub thought it must be time to turn around and head for home.  But each time he looked back it felt as though there was a fresh delight just a little further on, and he had looked forward again and followed his nose, until it had led him onto a log.  A sudden ripple in the water had dislodged the log from the side of the river bank and taken him across the river to a small island in the middle.

There Portly had disembarked and looked around him, entranced.  It felt as though he had never seen willow herb in quite such a brilliant pink, the roses by contrast appeared the softest pink imaginable, and the meadow sweet the purest white.  He could hear, very quietly, music coming from somewhere in the distance.

The music reminded him of the lullaby his mother had sung when he was a young pup.  It made him feel sad, in a pleasant sort of way, as if he wanted to hug the sadness inside him.  He didn’t want to be a small pup anymore, but he sensed he had lost something by growing up.

He began to follow the music, which drew him steadily on.  When his footsteps started to waver he felt the notes grew particularly sweet and he followed more resolutely, determined to reach their source before night fell.

Because now he knew night was coming.  It was already dusk, and the bright colours of day, already shaded by the trees which surrounded the clearing he had found, were becoming more muted.  The jewel-like pinks and whites were growing mauve and grey.

Portly began to wish his father was with him, and yet he did not want to abandon his quest for the music.  It drew him still further on, alternately loud and soft, until he looked up and saw the source of the sounds.  Then the tune changed and phrases from his mother’s lullaby became incorporated with other songs he knew, until the whole compass of the otter songs were tied up in the one piece.

He no longer missed his family, or was afraid of the dark, but reassured in the safety of ever-loving arms.  And so he curled up and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Pan looked down at the little sleeping otter, and slowly changed his tune to call the rescuers to find him.


End file.
